Face to Face
A leaden sky and a wind increasing in intensity presaged a coming
storm. It had been threatening since morning, and although Sergeant
North knew that he could not outstrip it, yet he hoped to reach Big
Chance before the trail became too heavy. The dogs were in fine
trim, better than he had ever seen them. They seemed to realize the
importance of the mission upon which they were bent, and the special
need for haste. They sped along the narrow, winding trail, through
forests, across inland lakes, up dreary stretches of wild meadows,
and over desolate tracts, where trees withered by fire stood stark
and bare. Pedro, a noble Malamute, long and lithe as a wolf, was the
leader. Five of his companions were full-blooded huskies, of the
Mackenzie River breed, surly and treacherous, but great workers. John,
the wheel-dog, was the only mongrel, lazy, but of enduring strength
and speed when forced by the stinging lash. For such a team of seven
able and hardened brutes the load they drew retarded them but little.
At times the sergeant, who guided the sled, and the constable, who
followed after, found it all they could do to keep pace with the fleet
animals.
Seated upon the sled, and well wrapped in robes and blankets, Marion
Brisbane thoroughly enjoyed the trip through the wilderness. Never
before had she been drawn by such a noble team of dogs, and she never
wearied watching them as they loped forward. Added to this, was the
presence of the man who had avowed his love the day before. Although
she could not see his face, she could feel his presence as he towered
above her at his watchful task of directing the sled. His right hand
held the whip, but only when the wheel-dog lagged would the lash split
the air like a pistol shot. There was little chance for conversation.
The lovers were happy, so words did not signify.
They had made good progress the previous afternoon, and had reached
the little road-house at the Forks, about twenty miles from Kynox,
several hours after dark. Here they had spent the night, and were up
and on their way early in the morning. From here to Big Chance the only
stopping-place was a police patrol-house. This was free to prospectors,
miners, and other travellers, with the distinct understanding that
no damage was to be done, and if they were forced to use any of the
provisions stored there they were to report it to the police as soon as
possible. This was a strict law, and it was always obeyed to the letter.
At first Sergeant North hoped to make Big Chance without stopping at
the patrol-house. He could not afford the delay if they were to reach
their destination that night. But when the storm came upon them just
after they had eaten their frugal meal in the shelter of a little clump
of trees, he was forced to give up the idea of gaining the mining camp
that night. They would do well to reach the patrol-house.
They were passing through a wooded region when the snow began to fall,
and it dropped gently and harmlessly upon their bodies. The flakes
were small, easily brushed aside, and in no wise interfered with their
progress. But the roaring of the wind overhead and the swaying of the
tree-tops told of the tempest that was raging outside.
“Suppose we camp here,” Rolfe suggested. “It’s a nasty storm, and we’ll
hit a bad trail ahead over the burnt land.”
“But we can make it, all right,” North replied. “We don’t want to spend
the afternoon and night here. We’re travelling light, remember, with
very little grub for ourselves, and none for the dogs. There’s plenty
at the patrol-house ahead, so we must make that. This storm may last
for a couple of days.”
Rolfe saw the wisdom of the sergeant’s words, and lapsed into silence
as he plodded steadily on. Ere long the trail led out of the woods into
the open on a small lake. Here the wind showed some of its force, and
swirled the light snow about their forms. But it was only after they
had passed through another grove of trees and reached the burnt land
did they feel the full sweep of the storm. Here thousands of rampikes
stood gaunt and naked. Among these the snow was driving like millions
of lances of the great unseen legions of the northland. The dogs
flinched and whined as the tempest struck them. Even North and Rolfe
were compelled to turn their faces from the stinging fury of the icy
darts, while Marion was forced to cover her head completely with the
fur rug.
“Can we make it?” Rolfe gaspingly asked. “This is terrible!”
“We must,” North replied. “We can’t stay here, and we can’t go back.
Get out the snow-shoes, for the trail’s already full.”
With the snow-shoes donned, North spoke to the crouching dogs. But
for the first time in their lives they refused to obey their master’s
command.
“Mush on,” the sergeant roared as the long lash snapped and sizzled
around their ears and flanks.
Howls of pain rent the air as the dogs struggled to their feet and
strained at the traces. With bent heads and lolling tongues they moved
slowly forward. It was Pedro who bore the main brunt of the storm, as
he nosed his way onward. At length the wheel-dog lagged, surged back
and dropped in his tracks. He refused to move, buried his nose in the
snow and seemed to pay no heed to the whining lash. There was no time
for delay, so he was unhitched, thrust rudely aside, and replaced by
the dog ahead. Then on again they pressed, the snow becoming deeper,
and the wind fiercer. Several times Marion begged to be allowed to
walk. But North only laughed, reminding her that she had no snow-shoes.
Even Pedro at length stopped, squatted in the snow, and turned
appealing eyes upon his master’s face.
“Played out, old boy?” North queried. “You’ve certainly done well.” He
then turned to the constable. “Take my place, Rolfe, I’m going to help
the dogs.”
From the front of the sled he procured a rope, both ends of which he
attached to Pedro’s harness. With the loop thus formed placed over his
shoulders he went ahead, broke down the trail, making it easier for the
team to follow. In this manner they were able to make better progress,
and they were just in sight of thick woods beyond when the huskies
dropped and refused to go a step farther. They, too, were cast adrift,
and the sergeant and Pedro, assisted now by the constable, tried to
draw the sled. They went but a short distance when they were forced to
give up in despair.
“It’s no use,” North panted, “we can’t make it. I guess you’ll have to
walk, after all, Marion, unless you have wings. Rolfe, you go ahead
and beat down the trail.”
Marion was only too glad to be on her feet. She was cold and
uncomfortable from her cramped position. The sergeant looked at her
in admiration as she smilingly threw aside the robes and stepped upon
the trail. The parka she was wearing could not conceal her sparkling
eyes, animated face, and several tresses of dark-brown hair waving
over cheeks and forehead. How he longed to pick her up in his arms and
carry her to the house. He knew that he could do it, for she seemed so
fragile as she stood there buffeted by the storm. Marion noticed his
look, and surmised its meaning.
“I am quite able to walk,” she said. “You have no idea how strong I am.”
“I know you are, and, in a way, I am sorry. I would really like to
carry you. I dare you to let me.”
“Nonsense,” Marion chided. “I am going to show you what I can do.”
“Very well, then,” the sergeant sighed, “follow on my heels, as
Shakespeare says, and we shall soon reach the woods.”
The trail thus beaten down by two pairs of snow-shoes was not hard to
follow, and in a short time the heavy timber was reached. Here the
wind could not touch them, and they both breathed more freely as they
stopped to rest.
“The patrol-house is only a few rods ahead,” North explained, “so we
should be able to make it now without much trouble. Are you tired?”
“Not much,” was the reply. “You won’t have to carry me, after all, will
you?”
“I am afraid not. But, hello! here’s Rolfe back again.”
“I beat the way almost to the house,” the constable explained, “so I’m
going after the dogs. I expect to have trouble.”
“Do the best you can,” North replied, “and I shall hurry back to help
you.”
It did not take the sergeant and Marion long to come in sight of the
patrol-house. It was a small building, situated a few yards from the
trail. As they approached, they could see smoke issuing from the stove
pipe stuck up through the roof.
“Somebody’s ahead of us, I see,” North remarked. “The place will be
warm at any rate.”
In another minute they were at the door, which the sergeant at once
unlatched and pushed open. They were accosted by the growl of a dog,
but Marion paid little attention to the animal, for her eyes were fixed
at once upon the man standing in the middle of the room. She knew
him at once, and her heart almost stopped its beating. The sergeant,
however, stepped forward as one who had a right to the place. If he
recognized Hugo, the trapper, he gave no sign.
“Bad storm,” he remarked. “I’m glad you’ve got a good fire. I hope you
won’t mind visitors.”
“Make yourself at home,” Hugo replied, mistaking him for a miner or a
prospector. “All are welcome here.”
The sergeant then turned to Marion and noted how she was staring at the
trapper.
“You stay here,” he said, “while I go and give a hand with the dogs. I
won’t be any longer than I can help.”
Turning, he passed out into the storm, and Marion was left alone with
her father. He was watching her somewhat curiously, his cap pulled well
down over his ears. The light from the little window in the south side
of the building made it possible for her to see him quite plainly. What
should she say? Did he have any idea who she was? Should she warn him
of his danger? Would that be fair to North? And yet he was her father,
even though he had deserted her and her mother for so long.
And while she thus stood in doubt there came into her mind his loving
care when she was but a child. How he had played with her, fondled her,
and she had always looked forward to his coming home at night. It all
rushed upon her now in a moment. Forgotten was everything else. What
would her mother say if she did not stand by him in his time of need?
And all the while Hugo was watching her. What was there in her face
that caused that peculiar expression to appear in his eyes? Why did he
at length step quickly forward and lay his right hand upon her arm?
“Take off your hood,” he ordered in a voice filled with emotion.
As Marion at once obeyed, he looked upon her tossed hair, and again
studied her face most intently. He seemed like a man trying to recall
something which he had long since forgotten. Marion noted this and her
heart beat wildly. The pathetic expression upon his face moved her
deeply. She could endure the strain no longer. Hugo had turned away,
and was about to go over to the little stove.
“Father! Father!” she cried, “don’t you know me? I am Marion, your own
daughter.”
With a roar the trapper wheeled and again faced the girl. The doubt was
now gone from his face, and in its stead there was an expression of
bewildered joy.
“You my daughter?” he asked in a hoarse whisper. “You Marion Brisbane?”
“Yes, I am,” was the faint response. “Didn’t you know me?”
Hugo’s only reply was to reach out and gather her in his great arms.
The tension of long years was broken. The man of iron, the terror of
interferers, and the enigma of the trails was at last subdued. His head
rested upon his daughter’s shoulder, while great sobs shook his mighty
frame. At length he stepped back and held her at arm’s length.
“Yes, I can see your mother’s looks,” he mused as if to himself. “I
thought I couldn’t be mistaken. Tell me, is she alive?”
“No, she has been dead for some time.”
“Ah!” Hugo’s hands dropped, and he stood staring off into space. The
past was sweeping upon him like a flood, and overwhelming him. He
turned and sat down heavily upon a rough block of wood which served as
a seat. With back bowed and head bent he remained very still. Marion
went to his side and laid a hand upon his shoulder.
“But you have me, father,” she began. “I have been searching for you a
long time.”
“You have!” Hugo looked at her in surprise. “How did you know me?”
“By your white lock.”
“When did you see that?”
“At the hospital when you were asleep on the kitchen floor.”
“But my cap was on.”
“I know it was. But I crept in and lifted it.”
“So you followed me here?”
“Oh, no. I had no idea where you had gone. I am on my way to Big Chance
to attend an injured miner. The storm caused us to take refuge here.”
“Who is travelling with you?”
“Sergeant North, and----”
Before Marion could finish, Hugo was on his feet. The old expression
of hate and fear had returned to his eyes, and in an instant he was
completely transformed. With a bound he was across the room. In another
instant he had seized his snow-shoes, rifle, and a bundle lying upon
the floor. Then with a swift glance toward his daughter, he rushed to
the door, tore it open, called to his dog, and plunged out into the
storm.
All this happened so quickly that Marion was amazed and dumbfounded.
But when her father had left she hurried to the door and looked out.
But no sign of him could she see. He had vanished in the forest and the
storm. A terrible dread now swept upon her. Only one meaning could she
take from her father’s peculiar action. He must be fleeing from the
Police! But why unless he had committed some crime? She thought of the
murder near the C. D. Cut-Off. Did her father commit that?
Forgotten was the storm as she stood in the doorway, staring out among
the trees. She thought nothing of the cold, neither did she notice the
sergeant until he was but a few yards away.
“Marion! Marion! what is the matter?” he asked in astonishment,
noticing the strained look upon her face. “Has anything happened?”
Marion gave a nervous laugh as she stepped back into the room, closely
followed by the sergeant.
“I am lonely, that’s all,” she evaded. “The man you left with me has
gone.”
“H’m that’s good,” North replied. “He didn’t like a woman around, I
suppose. One comes across queer characters up here. Some of them have
lived so long alone that they hardly know how to behave in the presence
of a female. But, there, we need not worry about that fellow. If he
doesn’t like your company, there’s someone else who does.” Stooping, he
kissed her upon the lips. “There, little girl, you know who likes your
company, so you needn’t be lonely any more.”
Just then Rolfe was heard outside shouting to the dogs. Marion started
and drew back, her face flushed a deep crimson.
“Does he know?” she whispered.
“Who? Rolfe?”
“Yes.”
“Sure. Do you think I could keep the good news from him?”